


These broken wings

by gogirl212



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos Angst, Missing Scene, episode s02 epi 05 The Return, something light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogirl212/pseuds/gogirl212
Summary: A/N: A response to the ffn monthly challenge with the theme “Flight”. Missing scenes for “The Return” S2, Epi 5.  This is the one where Athos gets kidnapped and dragged back to Pinon.  Every inch of him wants to leave, but he stays.  Why?  A retelling of the episode. Some gentle Athos angst for a summer evening.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26
Collections: Fête des Mousquetaires





	These broken wings

**Author's Note:**

> _Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
>  Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
> All your life  
> You were only waiting for this moment to arise ___  
>   
> _  
> _\- The Beatles__  
> 

As Athos came to, he tried to organize the jumbled memories careening in his head. He had been drugged, abducted, dragged back to Pinon — the life and land he had traded everything to leave — and now he was strung up in what had once been his own village square by a neighboring Comte who had dined at his father's table. That all seemed about right. But it wouldn't stay clear.

Athos was groggy, maybe from the beating Renard's men had given him as they subdued him or maybe from the wine or the drug still in his system. His head throbbed, the sun was too bright, and despite hanging helplessly by his wrists waiting to be flogged, his mind refused to focus on the situation. He was thinking about a blackbird.

_The battle had been brutal, corpses were strewn across the field. He found Porthos in the aftermath, they had mostly been fighting side by side, but they were looking for Aramis. The marksman had found a perch in the trees of the bordering forest to prevent the Huguenots from retreating into the woods. The battle was done, but he had not returned to the field._

_"Aramis!" Porthos called out again as they headed into the tree line, but he sounded more irritated than worried. They had survived worse than this and how much trouble could Aramis have really gotten into up a tree. It was not likely the Huguenots would have been looking there._

_"Aramis!" Athos called, pausing to listen. There was a rustling above him and a soft curse in Spanish wafted down on the breeze._

_"Aramis," Athos called up, shading his eyes with his hand as he squinted against the sun, "What are you doing up there?"_

_"You a'right?" Porthos added, coming to stand next to Athos._

_"I'm fine," the voice above called, "I'm just. . . I can't quite . . ." then there was a swath of cursing, the rustling of leaves, the crack of branches and Athos and Porthos realized in just enough time to react that Aramis was falling out of the tree. They couldn't do much to break his fall as they were bombarded with branches but he wasn't that high up and Porthos managed to get a hand on him before he landed with a thud on the ground between them._

_Aramis lay on his back, still and quiet. Athos thought he might have knocked himself out until a soft "Merde," came from the marksman, followed by a groan of pain._

_"Get up, let me see ya," Porthos said, pulling Aramis up from the ground. Aramis staggered against the big man, a little off-balance. Porthos held him at arm's length and inspected him up and down, "Ya landed on yer head, so yer fine," he teased. Aramis glared at him but other than some scrapes from the branches and the leaves in his hair didn't look much the worse for wear._

_"What was that all about?" Athos asked, retrieving Aramis's hat and returning it to the marksman._

_"My belt got stuck," Aramis said sheepishly, "I couldn't get out of the tree."_

_"So ya fell out," Porthos laughed, "That's not yer best plan."_

_"Well he's down now," Athos smiled, "Let's get back to Treville before he counts us in with the dead." They moved to leave but Aramis paused._

_"Wait, what's that?" the marksman said, his head cocked to the side. His hearing was nearly as good as his eyesight. Porthos and Athos instinctively moved their hands toward their pistols, but Aramis instead took a few steps away from them and knelt beside one of the fallen branches._

_"Oh," Aramis said quietly, then followed with a soft string of sounds usually reserved for soothing his horse. Confused Athos and Porthos shifted closer to see Aramis catch up a bird between his hands. "It's a blackbird," he explained, holding the frightened creature. Aramis shushed it again, managing to fold in one of its wings against its body, the other stuck out awkwardly, clearly broken,_

_"What are you doing?" Athos asked._

_"I can't just leave it here," Aramis purred at the bird._

_"Yeah ya can," Porthos said._

_"It'll die," Aramis countered._

_"It's a bird," Athos reminded him._

_"I like birds," Aramis shrugged. He whispered nonsense at the blackbird who had settled into his hands. "Let's go," Aramis said, walking off toward the clearing where the musketeers were assembling._

_"He's keeping the bird," Porthos sighed._

_"This isn't going to end well," Athos muttered as they followed after the marksman._

Shouting brought Athos's attention back to the present. Bertrand was on the ground, the innkeeper curling up to protect himself from the blows raining down even as his daughter Jeanne threw herself on top of him. Athos couldn't muster any fight but his eyes settled beyond them on a figure in a hat with a gun pointed. Someone shouted that soldiers were coming and then a shot rang out and Athos found himself pitched to the ground, the rope shot clean through. He pushed himself up, staggering into the crowd as chaos ensued. One of Renard's men grabbed Jeanne and they rode off, holding Athos at gunpoint until the last moment. Although with his hands tied, there was little he could have done anyway. Athos turned his attention to the men riding in. He should not have been surprised to see musketeers. 

The villagers made way as they rode into the square. Porthos was off his horse immediately, pulling his dagger and cutting Athos free. 

"You a'right?" he asked but Athos couldn't find words, his tongue thick in his mouth. His eyes focused on Treville even as Aramis was off his horse and looking critically into Athos's face. He was worried, Athos could see that, but he still couldn't piece together why Treville was here, why any of them were here. 

Here. This place that had meant everything to him. This place that he never thought to see again until they carried him home to put him in the grave beside his brother. It wasn't just the wine or a blow to the head, Athos had never wanted to be here again and his mind rebelled against all of it. He felt himself being propelled forward and realized Aramis had a hand on his back and D'Artagnan had caught him by the elbow. The boy looked worried. For him? Surely not. No one should worry about him. He was a broken thing and he was past fixing. 

_"Ya can't keep it in here," Porthos must have said that at least three times. He shot a dark look at Athos that Athos had hoped his low-slung hat would have deflected better. Athos had told Porthos repeatedly on the ride back to the Garrison that the bird would die on the journey. Having survived, Athos was now somehow at fault for the bird turning up in their quarters._

_"I am not going to abandon him to his fate," Aramis had a drawer open on the top of the oak chest and was settling the creature into its new home. "We have a responsibility."_

_"Aramis," Athos said, pushing himself into the room from where he was leaning in the doorway, "Your good nature is commendable but a bird with a broken wing will not survive." Aramis turned to him, hands on his hips as glanced at the floor, and took a deep breath. Athos recognized the marksman composing himself before he said something he'd regret. When he did look up there was a fire in his eyes but his tone was light._

_"Alright then, I'll mend the wing," he gave them a shrug as if it was not a ridiculous proposition._

_"Aramis -" Athos started, but the marksman was done. He cut Athos off with a gesture and settled his hat back on his head._

_"I'll fetch some plasters," he said as he pushed past them, "I'll meet you at the Wren," he added, effectively ending the conversation and leaving the bird to squawk in protest at its new residence._

"Athos? Hey?" the voice pulled him from his thoughts. Athos blinked a few times and Aramis's face solidified in front of him, "Hey," he said again, "You with us?" 

"I'm fine," Athos grunted. 

"Are you hurt or hungover?" Aramis asked as he probed around Athos's head for lumps and cuts. Athos shrugged him off, not interested in his friend's worry or ministrations. "We'll assume its both then," Aramis's comment was not kind. 

Athos knew he was being unfair to them, they were here because they were worried and he needed help. But he hadn't asked them, hadn't wanted to share this part of his life with anyone. It was his damned wife's fault that D'Artagnan had known. He had told them all the story of it, but to be here, standing in the place where it had all happened was too much of an invasion. There were things Athos did not choose to face and it was impossible to keep all the demons at bay with his friends tramping all over the blasted ground of his soul. 

"Here," Porthos came up behind him and draped his heavy cloak over Athos's shoulders. It was too big. Athos shivered, realizing he was cold. 

"You need to look at 'im," Porthos said to Aramis with a nod toward Bertrand. Porthos had gotten the innkeeper's shirt off and the red welts from the whipping were swelling on his back. Athos looked away in disgust. That beating had been meant for him. Maybe he even deserved it. It had been a long time coming. 

"D'Artagnan," Aramis called out, "Would you get our Lieutenant some water?" he asked. The marksman was already walking away to examine the innkeeper's injuries. D'Artagnan did as he was asked and turned up with a cup of well water. Athos downed it quickly, appreciating the cold water on his parched throat. Wine would have been better though. 

"What is going on here?" D'Artagnan asked. Athos considered brushing him off, but then Treville sat on a stump close to them, clearly wanting to know the entire story. Athos returned the empty cup to D'Artagnan and caught them up on the letters, the kidnapping and the events that transpired since. His story done, he had nothing else to say. He sat in silence watching Aramis rip bandages as his mind drifted back to the Garrison again. 

_Aramis hadn't joined them that night at The Wren. Athos found him sitting on the table in the practice yard, an empty bottle of wine beside him, and a half-full one in his hands._ _"What happened?" Athos asked stopping in front of him. Aramis turned his head away but answered him._

_"I can't set it, the wing, " he said, staring off into the darkness, "It's small and I don't understand how the joints work."_

_"You tried," Athos said putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, "You can't save everyone, Aramis. Some things are beyond fixing." Aramis huffed and turned his head back to Athos, disbelief and disappointment painting his features._ _"You really believe that, Athos?" Aramis asked, incredulous, "That we should give up because some things are just too hard? It's not for us to decide who to save, we have to try to save everyone. God decides if our effort is enough, but that is not our choice." Athos recognized the words, knew they were no longer talking about the bird. They had had this conversation many times at the start of their service together, at the start of their friendship._

_"You know that I believe some things are unredeemable, some men are beyond help, and some causes are lost before they even begin," Athos said, a familiar darkness creeping over him. He would have had more wine if he had thought he would end up in this conversation again._

_"I'd draw my blade against that if we weren't both too drunk to fight," Aramis was bitter. It was a sore subject between them. Athos hated constantly disappointing his friends._

_"I know," Athos said, "C'mon," he added, taking the bottle from Aramis's hands, "I know something of wildlife and anatomy." He didn't wait to see if Aramis followed him, he just took a big swig from the bottle and wandered off toward their quarters. He didn't really care about the damn bird, but he cared about Aramis._

"Athos," D'Artagnan pulled him back to the moment, joining him where he leaned against a pair of birch trees. Athos didn't look up. He didn't need to look at D'Artagnan to know that the boy's eyes would be filled with a deep compassion that Athos did not deserve. "Give up your title if it makes you happy, I mean that," D'Artagnan continued, "But think about these people, they live on your land," Athos said nothing, flipping the cloak over his shoulder and refusing to have this conversation. "They need your help," D'Artagnan was not going to be put off by Athos's refusal to engage. "I have nothing to offer them," Athos dismissed him, giving D'Artagnan his back as he walked out of the conversation, but Porthos was not having it either. 

"If I didn't know you better," the big man said as he stepped in front of him, "I'd say that sounded pretty cowardly." 

"Get out of my way," Athos said through a clenched jaw, unable to meet Porthos's eyes. Porthos might mean well, but he had no business in this. 

"The Athos I know always fights against injustice," Porthos continued, "Wherever he finds it." 

"Not here," Athos said, his anger and guilt pushing him to finally meet Porthos's gaze. Porthos, none of them, could understand. And it wasn't really his problem to make them, "Not this time." 

He felt Porthos's disappointment in his response, his disgust at what he had called out as cowardice, but the musketeer stepped aside and let Athos pass by. Athos was done here, let Aramis clean the innkeeper's wounds as he would, he was going back to Paris and another bottle of wine. Athos started to adjust the stirrups on his borrowed horse only to have D'Artagnan interrupt him. 

"I thought Milady's influence over you was done. Let this happen and they become her victims too," D'Artagnan said, his tone low enough to not be overheard by the others but insistent enough for Athos to hear his words as the plea they were. Athos's patience was at its limit. He turned from the horse and pushed past D'Artagnan and his self-righteous indignation. It was either that or hit him. 

"Athos, these people have no other protection!" D'Artagnan called after him, apparently not caring this time if the others overheard. Athos stopped in his tracks. 

"Only us," Treville had joined in the conversation and now he blocked his path. 

"This is not your fight," Athos said but he knew these men and he knew where this was going. It was the same thing as Aramis and that damned bird. 

"It is now," Porthos shrugged. 

"And I like it here," a chipper Aramis called out where he was managing his nursing duties. 

Not surprisingly, Athos was getting it from all sides. They would never understand his demons, never understand how much blood this land had already taken from them. He turned his back to them and grabbed his horse, pulling the animal away from his friends, away from the gathered villagers, away from all of it.

"Athos!" Aramis called out as he mounted up, but he didn't care. He spurred his horse forward and out of this godforsaken village that he had left behind long ago.<

He rode into the fields where the forget-me-nots had bloomed. Across the hills that he remembered joyously playing hide and seek with Thomas, and then again with her, many years later. He'd made love to her in those fields. The memories were full of golden sunshine but the shadow of the hanging tree loomed over them now. 

______He continued on, urging his horse past the tree and onto the uneven dirt lane. He trotted her up past the broken gate and paused to take in his boyhood home. A burned out, empty hulk of what had been. Hollow and abused, just like himself. He remembered the despair from their last visit. The anguish in his soul that all the wine in the villa could not quench. It was only in the fire she had set that he thought perhaps he would find an end to his misery._ _ _ _ _ _

______But D'Artagnan had seen it otherwise._ _ _ _ _ _

______He pushed his horse onward, stopping at the boarded-up entrance. He dismounted and left her, an unexpected fury rising up as he ripped the boards from the doorway with his bare hands. He didn't want to be here, no part of him ever wanted to be here again._ _ _ _ _ _

______He wandered through the wreckage of his home, memories of happier times dissolving into the image of his brother dead on the floor and Anne all in white holding a knife coated in Thomas's blood. Catherine accusing her of murder and Anne, his love and his heart, pleading for his mercy. No, he could not, would not, ever be the Comte de la Fere again._ _ _ _ _ _

______It was Catherine's appearance that called him back to himself, just as it had been D'Artagnan's the last time he had been here. As he followed her off to the servant's quarters she had taken up as her home, Athos realized he had more than just the villagers to atone for._ _ _ _ _ _

______xxxMMMxxx_ _____

__Athos hurled open the charred remains of the great door and staggered out into the sunshine. He took in great gulps of air, forcing the smell of mold and decay from his nostrils. Everything was dead here or dying. Catherine was probably half-mad, living hand to mouth as she was, left destitute by her father with no one to turn to for help. It was another ruined life to lay at his feet. She had been helpless without his protection._ _

____

>Athos needed away from this place. He mounted up and spurred his horse, not sure where he was going but knowing he could not just stand still. He pushed his mind away from Catherine, from Anne, from the ghosts roaming his house. 

____

_"Take him!" Aramis whispered urgently, shoving the bird into Athos's hands. He and Porthos had been feeding it bits of their breakfast to it when suddenly it was being bundled up and given to Athos._

__

_"What, no -" Athos tried to protest, but Aramis shushed him._

__

_"Treville!" he hissed with a nod toward the main building. Treville was in fact storming down the stairs from his office, a piece of parchment in his hand and murder in his eye._

__

_"I don't want it," Athos said, trying to give it back to Aramis._

__

_"I'm in trouble enough. Take it," Aramis said with a meaningful look. Athos sighed. The man was incorrigible. Aramis repositioned the bird in the crook of Athos's right hand and pressed it gently to his chest, over his heart. Then he pulled Athos's cloak over across his chest, easily hiding the bird behind its generous folds._

__

_"Why me?" Athos muttered._

__

_"Cause yer the one with the cloak," Porthos said casually around a mouthful of food. Athos glared but Aramis gave him a threatening smile and a pointed stare before turning to face Treville._

__

_"Captain, good morning," the marksman's tone was bright as morning sun in the courtyard._

__

_"What's this complaint from Monsieur de Blas about his wife?" Treville was oddly quiet. That didn't bode well._

__

_"I have no idea," Aramis said emphatically, and then the shouting started._

__

_Through it all Athos stood very still, acutely aware of the small, trembling creature he held pressed against his heart. He was careful to keep his features neutral, but he was uncomfortable. He didn't want to hurt the bird by clutching it too tightly, but if it escaped they'd all be in trouble. It started to move against his hand, its wings lightly fluttering against Athos's chest even though one was still splinted and it could not fly. Instinct was kicking in and the bird would do what it thought it needed to do as long as it felt unsafe._

__

_Athos carefully repositioned his left hand and gently stroked the soft, downy breast of the bird beneath his cloak. He stayed calm and still, not revealing anything to Treville and hoping he might soothe the bird. It settled against him, warm and soft in his hands, its wings still fluttering now and then but the trembling stopped. Athos thought the little creature much stronger than he had originally imagined. Much braver. It only needed a little care._

__

He found himself back at the inn, not on the road to Paris. Maybe he thought he would tell the others he was leaving. Ask Treville to bring Catherine back to them to Paris. He should at least look in on Bertrand - he had taken that beating for him after all. The old innkeeper at Pinon had proved nobler than its former Comte. Athos was disgusted with himself. He couldn't just leave. He felt something flutter in his chest. 

__

He reined his horse and dismounted at the back of the inn. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he had decided between the house and here that simply walking away a second time was not the right. It was true it didn't matter what happened to him, but these people and Catherine should not have to suffer at his hands. No one else should ever have to die for the sake of his choices. 

__

"You'll never beat the Baron with this," Treville was saying as Athos approached the door. The villagers had gathered there with the Captain and D'Artagnan, an odd assortment of blades and farm tools piled up on one of the tables, "Not enough powder or shot to frighten the birds, let alone Renard's men," Treville said, walking toward the ragtag group of townspeople and gesturing to their pitiful armory. "An army of scarecrows. With no horses, no swords, and no firearms," Treville finished. Against all the fear and loathing, Athos felt the wingbeats of that bird beating in his heart. 

__

"There's more at the house," Athos let the words out without thinking. He immediately regretted it, but he'd said it. It was done. Treville and D'Artagnan turned to him, surprise registering on their faces, along with the villagers standing behind them. At least he was not the coward they all suspected. 

__

"How much more?" Treville thank god was all business. 

__

"Enough to make a fight of it," Athos felt the wingbeats grow stronger. 

__

"You came back," D'Artagnan approached him slowly, looking just a little smug. The boy was exasperating. 

__

"Do you want to get the weapons or do you want to stand here and chat," Athos wasn't in the mood so he hoped for once D'Artagnan would just shut up. He turned on his heel, knowing full well that D'Artagnan would follow. Athos was on the other side of his better judgment but now that he'd stepped back into his role as their Lieutenant, he would play his part to the end. 

__

They rode in silence back to the house but once there, D'Artagnan made it clear he would not put up any further with Athos's brooding. He wasn't being unkind, the lad was concerned. And if Athos was going to own all of his mistakes, honesty about them had to come into play somewhere. 

__

"What made you change your mind," D'Artagnan finally asked as Athos pulled the key to the vault from a decrepit old cabinet. 

__

"You were right," there was no fanfare in the statement, but Athos felt his cheeks flare with shame, "Whatever happened here the people of Pinon are not to blame. They shouldn't suffer because of my mistakes." 

__

found the key and forced it into the corroded lock. It turned with a satisfying click and he heaved open the massive door to the vault. 

__

"Every nobleman had to raise a local militia in times of war," he said as he made his way into the secret room, "My father kept a secret armory and I continued that tradition," Athos paused to unlock the iron gate as D'Artagnan followed him into the room. It smelt of dust and decay, but not damp. That was a good sign. 

__

Athos pulled the oilcloth from the rack of pistols and surveyed his small arsenal. At least the farmers would be well-equipped. He picked up one of the firearms while D'Artagnan inspected the rack of swords. The boy pulled a blade and flipped in in the air and Athos felt his heart lighten. The wingbeats of the little bird again fluttering toward something like hope. The pistols were no match for his own back at the garrison, but they looked like they should still be able to fire straight. 

__

"A little battered, but just about serviceable," Athos pronounced, slipping the firearm onto his belt. 

__

Talking about yourself, or that pistol?" D'Artagnan joked, giving Athos a fond if sheepish smile. Athos couldn't help himself but smile back. D'Artagnan's faithfulness, all of them really, was far better than he deserved for riding out of Pinon vowing never to return. He had lost so much but yet found something he never thought he would have again. Emotions hit him like a wave and Athos bowed his head, overcome by sorrow and joy all at the same time. His black heart had no room for this. 

__

Before the walls could close in around him, Athos felt D'Artagnan's hand on his shoulder. Steady, unwavering, devoted. Like a lifeline out of a pit of darkness. He bit his lip and fought back the tears. He remembered the day when Aramis finally let go of that bird. 

__

_"What are you on about now?" Athos looked over to the table where they usually took their meals. Aramis had climbed on top of it, holding the blackbird in his hands._

__

_"I've done what I can," Aramis said, looking thoughtful and serious and perhaps a little afraid, "I think I have to let him go and see if he can fly," he smiled at Athos, hopeful, "I think he will."_

__

_"If he can't it's a'right," Porthos's voice boomed from the doorway. "I've gotten used to the little guy."_

__

_"No," Aramis sighed, "Birds have to fly, Porthos, or they're not birds. You can't run from your true self." Aramis sighed and stroked the bird then whispered something in Spanish the way he often whispered to his horse or a wounded man on the battlefield. Athos and Porthos exchanged a smile. The man was pure mayhem in a fight but give him any kind of creature to take care of and he was more priest than warrior. He tended more souls than he reaped._

__

Athos took a deep breath, as he remembered how Aramis would gentle the bird. Like the marksman, these three men refused to let him live in pain or fear. Athos felt something split in his chest, pride finally breaking like a dead limb cut from a tree. Athos choked back tears and allowed himself comfort from D'Artagnan's presence. He did not deserve this love and care, but it was here nonetheless. He let it ground him in who he knew he had always been, a faithful and honorable man. D'Artagnan felt the shift in him too and clapped him on the back as Athos moved from him toward the barrels of powder. 

__

"It was always a good dry cellar. With any luck, the powder won't have spoiled," he knew was changing the subject as he indicated to D'Artagnan to check as he stepped toward the large stone crypt lying just beyond them. Now that the dam had broken, so many memories and feelings were crowding at him all at once. 

__

"Family vault," Athos tried to keep the conversation in the now, "My ancestors, a dozen generations or so," but it was fruitless. With a rough gesture, he wiped away the dust of years from the crypt, revealing Thomas's name. Memories assaulted him - the moment she confessed, the moment he had decided, the moment he was most alone. But also that damned bird again. 

__

_"Alright, little one," Aramis cooed. He spun in a circle on the table in the sun as if showing the bird where he was, where he had been. "Go!" he shouted as he tossed the bird up in the air toward the bright wide sky. There was a moment where they all wondered and then the bird opened its wings, full and whole, caught a draft of air, and with a series of mighty flaps soared into the sky. Aramis laughed, pulling off his hat and whooping up at the blackbird circling above him. Porthos and Athos gathered closer, Porthos clasping Aramis on the shoulder as he clamored down from the table and Athos pouring them all a cup of wine._

__

_"I never thought I'd see that," Athos said smiled. "Who heals a bird with a broken wing?"_

__

_"You were nuts to take him in," Porthos laughed, "One in a million odds that would ever happen."_

__

_"I knew he'd fly again," Aramis said, "He just needed us to show him."_

Athos stood beside the crypt, feeling the weight of his ancestors, feeling the weight of his choices, but also remembering the flight of the blackbird, the broken creature that no one thought would survive. Athos might never be the same again, but somehow, he was no longer broken. Something had healed and the wingbeats in his heart smoothed to a strong and steady rhythm. 

"Is the powder good?" he asked D'Artagnan. 

I think so," the young musketeer replied, pulling a barrel on his shoulder. 

"Good," Athos said, "Let's get out of here," Athos lead the way out of the crypt, not bothering to lock the door. The bird was out of its cage and Athos did not think he would ever be back there again. He was ready to save Pinon, atone for abandoning his people and leave this place for good. As he walked out into the sunshine he reminded himself he'd have to thank Aramis. He had been right, broken wings don't heal on their own. 


End file.
